


Kageyama's Guide to Gravity and Falling

by ErinNovelist



Series: how the setter fell for his spiker (and everything after) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Kageyama Tobio, Romance, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 10:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15727488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinNovelist/pseuds/ErinNovelist
Summary: There are certain limits that the universe sets in motion: if you jump then you must come back down, if you run then you must slow down, if you fly then a force must push you up. Sometimes though, Kageyama reckons, the line between them intermingles because gravity seems to have a mind of its own, like love without borderlines.Hinata has always been someone without limits.(He’s also all of Kageyama’s.)





	Kageyama's Guide to Gravity and Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostinwander (the_silverdoe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_silverdoe/gifts).



On average, a volleyball player vertically jumps close to 300 times during a match. In the three hours since they started practice, Kageyama thinks that Hinata has passed that. It’s amazing though, quite an interesting thing indeed, that the middle blocker isn’t tired yet. Even after numerous blocks and spikes, conditioning and three-on-three matches, Hinata still hasn’t reached his limit. 

Kageyama thinks of Shiratorizawa and wonders if Hinata even has one. 

Limits exist for a reason—it’s written into the very laws of nature. There’s a heart rate max you can’t surpass before you collapse. If you jump to your maximum height, gravity will always bring you back down. Storm clouds are built up from water, and once it’s empty, the rain will stop. 

Hinata seems to be the exception. 

“Again,” the boy calls out, stepping into position behind the mid-line, a volleyball in hand. 

By now, it’s nearing seven o’clock and darkness is ebbing into the evening hour. Their teammates disappeared long ago, departing for the club room or the market down the road, eager for some rest and relaxation time before they start practice matches tomorrow. Kageyama doesn’t even ask Hinata to stay behind, knowing that they dance to the same tune, and extra practice time has become routine. 

“It’s late,” Kageyama tells him, but he accepts the pass and tosses it right back. The harsh _pitter-patter_ of Hinata’s approach and the _bam_ as he drives it down the line reverberate throughout the empty gymnasium.

It’s perfect. 

“I didn’t like that one,” Hinata pouts, his lips curling into a tight grimace. “I don’t like leaving it on a bad note. Let’s go again.” 

Kageyama sighs but picks up the volleyball anyways. “One more and that’s it. You’re gonna wear yourself out, stupid.” He spins the ball between his fingers before tossing it off to Hinata who steps back from the net. 

“Don’t be dumb,” Hinata tells him but silently agrees, even though both know he isn’t anywhere close to being done.

Hinata has no limit. Kageyama already knows his.

He thinks of the blind trust his spiker has in his teammates and the smiles he gives freely like pocket change to a wishing well. He memorizes the way Hinata laughs and the bright eyes when he first arrives in the early morning. He thinks of pale skin and soft hands, of worn sweatshirts and scuffed sneakers, and the squeaky sound of his bike coming up the drive. 

Kageyama thinks of all this and more, thinks about how it pulls him in like gravity, and wonders, for a short moment, what it would be like if he had all this for _him_. 

He knows his own limit—has known it for quite some time—and wonders when Hinata will realize it too. 

Kageyama tosses, Hinata jumps, and the ball slams onto the court inbounds. Elation bubbling up within him, Hinata lets out a loud _whoop!_ that echoes on and on.

Deep in his chest, Kageyama’s heart pings and jumps into overdrive.

 

(He’s reached his limit.)

 

*

 

It starts on a late spring evening when Kageyama is leaving practice. 

He finds Hinata leaning against the railing outside of the clubroom, aglow in the sunset colors. His sweat-tangled curls look like fire. Kageyama finds himself wanting to step closer, wanting to run his fingers through them, wanting to see if Hinata’s touch burns. 

Instead, Kageyama recoils, wondering just _where_ that thought came from.

 (…He isn’t sure he wants to know.) 

“Are you coming over tonight?” Hinata asks as they march down the stairs, a spring in his step, curls bouncing as he walks. 

Kageyama presses his lips into a thin line, trying not to smile the more he stares. 

He swings his duffel bag over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him. “Don’t you have literature homework?” he says in response because he knows what Hinata wants. “We aren’t gonna have time to work on receives if you wanna pass that class.”

“I’ll finish the homework and still have time for volleyball,” Hinata mumbles, grip on the railing tightening. 

Kageyama snorts and shakes his head. “I’d like to see you try.” 

There’s a sudden change in the air like a match striking luck with a spark or a crow taking off from a branch. Hinata spins on his heel, jumping in place, and a bright smile stretches across his face. He points at setter’s chest and proclaims, “Oh, I’ll do it! I’ll get top marks on this and won’t drop a single ball tonight!” 

(His unquestionable confidence leaves Kageyama breathless.)

“Really?” 

“Fine,” Hinata says. “If I get full marks, you’re coming over every day for a week.” An easy smile slips onto Kageyama’s face, and Hinata startles—but his own never wavers. 

Kageyama levels him with a stern gaze, blue eyes flashing wildly in the fiery sunlight. “You owe me a pork bun for every ball you drop and every question you miss on your homework.” 

“So you’ll do it?” Hinata turns toward the setter, eyes eager and bright.

Kageyama rests a shaking hand atop Hinata’s head. His fingers tangle in his hair, and it feels as soft as silk, just how he imagined. “Fine,” he tells him, even though he was always going to follow through. 

Kageyama would give Hinata anything he asks for. 

When he thinks about _why_ though, all that comes to mind is Hinata’s hair in the late evening sun that leaves him shiver-bright and breathless. He pictures the way Hinata’s smile pulls him apart like a badly-stitched volleyball, until it’s so unrecognizable and unusable that he can’t even toss with it anymore. He thinks about the charisma and charm and confidence—all of it that hits him like a sharp spike he can’t block. 

It just makes him want to run and hide.

He still wonders why Hinata is all he can think about. He wonders if he’ll ever figure it out.

 

(A part of him doesn’t want to.)

 

 

*

  

Hinata corners him on the street corner a block from school one morning, eyes glittering with happiness at six o’clock in a way that isn’t human. He’s chattering a mile a minute, fingers gripping Kageyama as he tugs him towards the gym, and the setter can only follow. 

Even though he’s tired beyond belief, still blinking sleep from his eyes, no matter what—every day—without fail, Hinata’s smiles make the fire in Kageyama’s chest flare up. 

“So who do you like, Tiredyama?” Hinata teases, hands gripping the strap of his gym bag. He skips ahead a few paces until he’s walking backwards, eyes never leaving Kageyama. “Have you met any cute girls?” 

Kageyama schools his expression into a resolute expression, but his hands shake at his sides. He wishes he had a volleyball to fidget with, to distract himself from Hinata, but at this point, it might only make things worse. Hinata and volleyball go hand-in-hand now a days. 

He can't have one without the other.

“I don’t need a girlfriend,” he tells his friend. “I just need volleyball.”

Hinata laughs and walks ahead of him, like he always has, since the day they first met. 

There’s a flame in Kageyama’s chest that burns soft beneath his ribs, but it leaves him aching.

 

 _(I just need you_.)

 

 

*

  

They’re pouring over textbooks just after Nationals, studying for their final exams, sitting at the kitchen table in the house that’s become more like a home to Kageyama this year than his own. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” Hinata muses over the tip of his pencil, catching Kageyama before he can look away. He’d been staring at him for a while, absentminded without a purpose, the kind of gaze he has when he’s solving a math problem or analyzing a team’s attack strategy, when all your thoughts wander around a central idea. 

(His haven’t left Hinata all day.) 

“I’m always quiet,” Kageyama says. He’s not a creature of many words: actions have always spoken volumes in place of a tangle of noise with little meaning. 

Hinata fixes him with soft eyes, daring him to protest. “It’s different this time.”

“How can quiet be different?” Kageyama asks, and his grip on his pen grows tighter. “It’s always the same. Don’t be dumb.” 

“No, really,” Hinata insists, lips pressing into a thin line like they do when he’s serious. “It’s not like when you’re really tired, or when you’re stuck on a question. It’s like you’re thinking too loud tonight, but I can’t hear anything.” He quirks an eyebrow high. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Nationals,” he answers instinctively, but his pulse picks up beneath his skin. “How we’re gonna do better than third next year.” 

Hinata shakes his head and shrugs, flashing Kageyama a soft but understanding smile. “No, you aren’t.” 

“I’m just tired,” Kageyama tells him. 

Inside, though, he’s screaming. _Just how many different quiets are there_? Kageyama wonders. _And how do you know them all?_  

Hinata keeps working on his math homework, completely unaware of what he’s doing to his partner. Kageyama can’t help but stare again and wonders what else the middle blocker has picked up on—if Hinata can hear the secret he tries so hard to hide in the silence, hear the pitter-patter of his heart every time their eyes meet, hear his breathing hitch with every work he speaks. 

Just how much does Hinata hear in this quiet?

(Kageyama is too afraid to ask.) 

But he keeps staring because Hinata is the one thing he can never look away from.

 

*

 

“Do you remember when you used to hate me?” Hinata’s voice is quiet in Kageyama’s small bedroom. 

Kageyama stops tossing the volleyball up towards the ceiling, bringing it to his chest as he turns to look at the other boy. Hinata is sprawled across the foot of his bed, eyes distant, biting his bottom lip in thought. Kageyama’s own lips stretch into a soft smile because of course he does. He thinks back a year ago when their partnership first began and bitter remarks and smart retorts were as frequent as Hinata’s smiles and his tosses. 

“Kind of,” he tells Hinata and wants to laugh. “Seems like a lifetime ago now.” 

He tries to recall the single moment they slipped into this familiarity, when he finally decided to fall, what exactly drew him in. Somewhere along the way, between the rising sun in Hinata’s eyes and the cherry blossom petals that blew in with his laugh, Kageyama sat on a bench one spring afternoon and decided to never leave Hinata’s side. Before that, there’d been many days he couldn’t stand the spiker, preferring to push him down a hill or drown him in the mud, but that was then and this is now, and they’re together, and Kageyama would never do anything to change that. 

 _It’s funny,_ Kageyama finds himself thinking. _Because I never did hate you_. Hating Hinata? That’s like hating the sun for shining. It’s not something that Kageyama thinks he’s capable of. 

“Did you know you were my first friend?” Hinata tells him quietly. 

Kageyama nods even though, inside, he’s screaming. 

 _I want you to be my first everything_ , he wants to say.

Instead, he simply says, “You were mine too.”

 

 

*

 

 

“You guys are really close,” Yachi says from the sidelines after practice one day. 

Kageyama adjusts the strap of his gym bag, quirking an eyebrow high at the comment. He turns to her with a quizzical expression. “Of course we are,” he tells her. “I’m his setter.” 

Yachi simply laughs and shakes her head, blonde hair falling into her face. “Oh, Kageyama. There’s more to life than volleyball.”

The words make him pause because _no, there isn’t._

There are a few things in life that Kageyama knows to be the concrete truth: that the default toss for the Karasuno spikers is high and off the net, that Hinata’s maximum jump height is 336 cm, that the best point of contact for a toss is just above the hairline, and that he loves volleyball the same way he loves Hinata Shoyo.  

It’s just simple facts.

 

*

 

 It’s a week before the Spring High tournament when Hinata mumbles a soft, “I’m tired,” and is already walking away before the ball rolls to a stop, still bouncing across the court, each _slam!_ like a bullet through Kageyama’s heart.

“This early?” he quips out, grabbing a ball from the cart behind him. It’s only three-quarters full—and they have so much more to do. Usually they can through three cartfuls but not tonight. It confuses him. “That’s not like you.” 

Hinata bends down to grab his water bottle, simply shaking his head. “Just tired,” he answers with a soft sigh. “I’ve got a lot of homework to do.” 

“So you’re quitting,” Kageyama says and begins to pick up the balls on the other side of the court. 

He hears the sharp intake of breath from the spiker, and he can’t help but smile. In the eighteen months they’ve known each other, Kageyama knows Hinata’s ins-and-outs better than he knows himself, and quitting is a word that isn’t found in Hinata’s vocabulary. 

And if parading around that fact will rile him up, get him out of whatever funk he’s fallen into, well, it’ll have been worth it. 

“I’m not quitting,” comes the sharp retort. “I told you: I’m _tired._ ” 

Kageyama turns on his heel and fixes Hinata with a heavy gaze. “Spring High is next week. We still have to practice hitting the zones.” 

“Ennoshita-san says we’re supposed to rest.” Hinata’s hands curl into tight fists at his side, like he’s holding himself back. 

“I’m not stupid,” Kageyama tells his partner. He throws a volleyball into the cart with more power than he should have at climax of practice, power he hasn’t spent in tosses and smiles, ones he usually exchanges with Hinata for hours at the end of the day. “You’re not telling me something.”

Suddenly, there’s a sea between them, full of shipwrecks and storms and sailors who’ve drowned. It’s gray and ugly like clouds heavy with rain just before they break, the hazy sadness that clings like a ghost, the world without colors when it’s lost everything else.

Hinata is quiet for a moment before there’s a soft shuffle as he picks up his gym bag and kicks off his shoes. “I never said you were stupid,” he says to the space between them. “But neither am I.”

 Kageyama whirls around to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Hinata’s eyes are dim. It’s unsettling.

“I’m tired,” is all he manages as he opens the exit. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The gym feels empty without Hinata. Kageyama misses his laugh and the sound of his footsteps as he begins his jump approach, and how they all echo in the cage of his chest where an overeager heart struggles to keep up.

 _I’m tired,_ Hinata had said. 

 _Tired of what?_ Kageyama wonders. 

Tired of spikes? Tired of tosses? Tired of practice? Tired of school? 

Tired of volleyball? Tired of talking? Tired of losing? Tired of _me_? 

(…Kageyama doesn’t want to know.)

  

* 

 

Hinata comes to him the next day, a frown etched across his face. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs with his gaze centered on the ground. He refuses to look at Kageyama. 

The setter takes a deep, shuddering breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He bounces a volleyball on the ground as his heart stutters in his chest: _one, two, catch_. 

“I… I’ve got a lot going on,” Hinata explains fervently. “I just wasn’t in the mood to practice, and Ennoshita-san told me to go home and rest.” 

“I understand,” Kageyama tells him, even though he doesn’t. Volleyball has always been a fluent language between them, one they knew the rhyme and rhythm better than anything else, so to suddenly find Hinata gone means that the meaning is lost as well.

 Hinata shrugs helplessly. “Tanaka-san told me that sometimes it helps to step away from the things you love to get some perspective. Last night was just one of those times I needed to do that, but…” His eyes turn hard and a smile slips onto his face. “I’m ready to go again now, if you want.” 

He grabs the volleyball from Kageyama’s hands and skips across the court because he knows the setter will always follow him. He can’t deny Hinata anything, after all. 

Kageyama pictures stepping away from Hinata. 

(He can’t. It’s impossible.) 

 

*

  

The confession is the event horizon—the point of no return. 

It’s simple physics. Kageyama is a black hole and, if he lets Hinata come too close, then he’ll lose everything. It’s written in the very laws of nature that if he tells Hinata how he loves him, then all he is, all he feels, all he thinks about… will be gone. The fear keeps him at bay, just short of falling in, clinging onto Hinata’s gravity with everything he can. 

Nothing can escape the event horizon. Not even his love for Hinata.

It sucks because sometimes Kageyama swears he was born half-in-love with Hinata, just waiting for the day he’ll finish falling. Whether their quick and partnership was crafted by fate is another matter entirely, but he’s sure that falling in love is something he’s always been meant to do. 

It’s moments like this that convince him: when they’re on the bus on the way home from a training camp in Tokyo, and Hinata is sprawled across his lap, half curled into a ball, sleeping soundly. Kageyama can only stare at his partner with soft eyes and a sad smile, wishing desperately that he could hold Hinata and have it be okay. 

Hinata lets out a shuddering breath, the sound settling in the space between them, and Kageyama’s hand moves from its spot against his knee. Fingers itch to thread through the other boy’s curls, to sketch constellations in the freckles that dust his cheeks, to touch and hold and love with everything that he is. If he were alone, perhaps he would. The rest of the Karasuno volleyball club is seated around them, voices drifting off as exhaustion tugs their bones to slumber. His own tiredness clings to him like a ghost, leaving him hazy and warm. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, Kageyama reckons, to take a chance. 

He places a hand atop Hinata’s head, runs his fingers through the curls, feels them soft against his skin. In his lap, Hinata sighs and moves closer to Kageyama, pressing into the touch as a small smile stretches across the sleeping spiker’s face. His heart hammers in his chest. Kageyama is used to Hinata’s body—knows the way he moves, the way he acts—and knows that Hinata’s gravity has a mind of its own. Hinata clings to the things he needs, the people he cares about, the places he loves. 

Kageyama has always wanted to be those.

Outside, the fields pass by as they head back to Sendai, the sun dipping below the horizon as darkness blankets the sky. A warm weight suddenly presses against his hip, pulling him out of his silent reverie, and he looks down to see Hinata curling the fabric of Kageyama’s warmup jacket between his fingers. He’s still sleeping soundly. 

Kageyama feels like a dwarf star—the tired, dying kind. At Hinata’s side, though, as setter and spiker, he feels like a newborn sun just beginning to shine. It’s a twisted form of existence, a feeling that’s particularly unpleasant, but Kageyama has grown complacent.

His mind quiets, and the world disappears. 

“I love you,” he whispers to the space between them where Hinata rests.

 Hinata keeps sleeping. Kageyama falls into his gravity. 

 

*

 

“Where do you think we’ll be next year?” Hinata asks aloud after Nationals their second year, bouncing a volleyball between his spread legs. He won’t look at Kageyama, and for once, the setter is grateful. 

He doesn’t think Hinata needs to see the fear painted across his face.

Kageyama wonders, a year from now, if they’ll still be together. It’s gotten to a point that he can’t imagine a future without volleyball, or volleyball without Hinata. The two have merged into a binary star system, stuck in orbit with no hopes of coming apart, lost in each other’s gravity, and Kageyama just wants to meet him in the middle. 

Kageyama shrugs and bites the rim of his water bottle, mulling thoughts over in his head as Hinata waits. “You’re going to Sendai University after high school, right?”

It’s Hinata’s turn to shrug. “I haven’t really thought about it,” he answers honestly, and his gaze grows distant. “That’s a long way away.” 

“You’ve gotta know where you’re going, dumbass,” Kageyama tells him, but there’s no heat behind it. 

Hinata’s eyes are clear and wide when he asks, “So you know what you’re doing?” 

“Wherever I can play volleyball,” he says because it’s the truth. 

What’s also truth is this: Hinata’s maximum jump height is 340 cm, that Hinata can jump well over 300 times in a single game because his stamina is something alien, and that the recruiter from Tokyo is asking questions about their future after they won the national championship. Kageyama knows the world belongs to him and Hinata, and he will fight his hardest to keep them together. 

(The laws of the universe dictate this: Hinata loves volleyball, and Kageyama loves Hinata. Hinata will go where he can play volleyball, and Kageyama will follow like he has since the first day they met. 

There’s never been any other choice.)

 

* 

 

It’s many, many months later when it impacts. 

Hinata’s curls burn in the dim light of the gymnasium, sweat-tangled wisps of fire dancing free as he jumps up for the quick. Kageyama freezes while he watches the middle blocker smack the volleyball down the line, mouth open in awe, fingers still tingling from the toss he’d set up. A second or two have passed, but it feels like it could be hours. It’s something Kageyama is quite used to by now. He’s spent an eternity in minus tempo falling in love with Hinata. 

He can’t think of how else to describe the way he feels. It’s like Kageyama jumped into the path of Cupid’s arrow before he’d even let go of the string of the bow—hopelessly and inevitably ready to love the spiker without knowing what would come after. 

The ball hits the court out of bounds with a loud _slam_. Hinata lands on his feet with a soft, “damn.” Kageyama’s heart gives a sharp pang. 

“One more,” Hinata tells him without looking over his shoulder, already reaching into the cart to pull out another volleyball. “I wanna end it on a good one.”

“We’ve been here for an hour.” Kageyama wipes his forehead with the hem of his sweat, hoping beyond anything that Hinata will mistake his flush for exhaustion. 

“One more,” Hinata says, giving him no room for argument. 

Running a hand through his hair, Kageyama lets out a tired sigh and gestures for the ball because, even after three years together, he still can’t deny Hinata anything. A bright smile stretches across the spiker’s face, causing the wild heart in the setter’s chest to bang against his rib cage like an animal. He throws the ball up for Kageyama who sets him a toss—high and a bit off the net—just how Hinata likes it.

There’s the pitter-patter of the approach, the loud smack of a hand against the ball, and the soft whoosh as Hinata lets out a cry of excitement. The ball lands inbounds, and it’s… perfect.

 “One more,” comes Hinata’s instant response, volleyball already in his hands.

For the first time in three years, Kageyama shakes his head. “No.” 

Hinata starts and whips around to face him, fixing him with a bewildered gaze. “What?” 

Cocking his head, he stares long and hard as if he can find the answers he seeks to questions he doesn’t know. Kageyama wouldn’t put it past him if he did find something—that’s how their partnership has evolved—but this isn’t something Hinata can just _tell_. How Kageyama feels about him is a secret he is well-practiced in hiding: one he’s learned to anchor when Hinata’s gravity tries to attract it, one he shields when Hinata’s light burns his world, one he’s kept pace with when Hinata walks ahead. 

“I said we’re done.” Kageyama turns on his heel and heads towards to the other end of the net, starting to unwind and unclip. “Pack up.”

“No, we aren’t.” Hinata winds up and chucks the volleyball at him. It bounces off his chest and falls to the ground. “Pick it up and _let’s go_.” 

“Hinata, no—” 

“Are you quitting on me?” 

“No more.” 

“Are you, Quitteryama?” The spiker is walking towards him again, eyes on fire. “Suddenly you’re tired? Suddenly you’re done?” 

“Shoyo—” 

“ _I’m not ready to be done_!” Hinata cries out. 

Legs shaking, Hinata starts to crumble, and instincts that have been ingrained in Kageyama for three years startle him into action. Arms loop around Hinata’s waist, pulling him against his chest, and fists curl into the back of Kageyama’s shirt. There’s a few seconds of silence, hearts skipping into overdrive, then tears start to slip down pale cheeks, thick and slow like candlewax. 

“I don’t want this to be our last one,” Hinata murmurs into the fabric of his practice shirt. “It can’t be over. I can’t lose you.” 

“Shoyo,” Kageyama whispers, and his hand disappears into Hinata’s curls. He breathes deep and pulls the spiker close, until they’re pressed together with not a hair breadth between them. He rests his chin atop his head and sighs. “Don’t be such a dumbass. You’re never going to lose me.” 

“But it was our last one. There’s no more.” 

Kageyama thinks of earlier today when they won Nationals and how his heart had been swollen with happiness, but then he thinks of Hinata—who collapsed to his knees in the middle of the court, tears streaming down his face, and now he can’t remember if it was from sadness or joy. He only remembers crossing over and embracing him tightly, much like he is now, because his heart writhes and pulses whenever he thinks of his partner in pain. 

“We won today,” Kageyama tells him. “We didn’t lose.” 

Hinata lets out a short, shuddery breath. “But it feels like we did.” 

Kageyama stays silent and holds him tight and wonders when loss and victory became so intertwined. 

After a moment, Hinata pushes him away and takes a step back, trying to find room to think, room to breathe. “I heard you talking to that recruiter,” he mutters softly. “I know about that offer in Tokyo.”

Kageyama’s hands tighten into fists at his side as he inhales sharply. “It’s not what you think.” Outside, thunder rolls in the distance like it’s trying to scare him off.

“You think I didn’t already know that you’re leaving Sendai after graduation?” Hinata shakes his head, wipes his tears, and smiles softly, but it’s not like the smile Kageyama loves. It’s sharp and broken, full of bitterness and regret, like Hinata never believed Kageyama was going to stick around in the first place but still hoped.   

His heart aches. It hurts.

Kageyama can’t take it. He grabs Hinata by the wrist and tugs him forward, until they’re pressed together, and this time he won’t let go. Hinata is reaching his limit—has jumped too high for too long, and now gravity is pulling him back down. Kageyama can only hope to catch him before he crashes. 

“You’re an idiot,” he says against Hinata’s curls. The strands glint like fire in the harsh lighting, and Kageyama’s world burns. 

“N-No, I’m not,” Hinata tries to say, but his voice quivers with the weight of his emotions. More tears slip down his cheeks but the rest cling like dewdrops to grass, refusing to fall. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve always known you’d never stick around here. You’re too good to be here, too good to be with me.” 

“You really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kageyama lets his hands rest on the spiker’s shoulders as he pulls away. “I’m not going to Tokyo.” 

Hinata’s head snaps up. “What?” 

Keeping secrets and holding them close have taken their toll on Kageyama, in the tilt of his head and lines around his mouth, and suddenly all he wants to do is tell Hinata everything. “I…” But he still catches himself, the words on the tip of his tongue, and he swallows them back, pressing them _down, down,_ _down_ because he isn’t ready to lose his friend. 

“What did you do?” Hinata quirks a brow in question and meets his stare. 

“I’m going to Sendai University.” 

He shakes his head and says, “No, you’re not.” But it comes out soft and wrong. Something squirms deep inside Kageyama’s chest, trying to free itself from its cage of bone, and spill out into the open. “You’re going to Tokyo.” 

“I turned it down,” Kageyama tells him. “I’m not leaving Sendai for volleyball.” 

“ _Why_?” A cloud passes over Hinata, and he can’t understand. Kageyama doesn’t blame him—how could he? “How could you turn that down? It’s volleyball, and y-you’re _you!_ ” 

“I can play volleyball at Sendai. It doesn’t have to be Tokyo.” 

“ _Yes_ , it does! Sendai’s great, and the volleyball team is good, but T-Tokyo is… _Tokyo!_ ” Hinata holds his hands out in front of him, gesturing to get his words across, as he scrambles to find the rest explanation like he actually _wants_ to convince him to go. “All the best players go there; there’s a lot of opportunities there; the National Team has scouts there; and—” 

“—and you’re not there.” 

Hinata only stares. “What does that mean?” 

There’s silence, and Kageyama’s desperately trying to fill in the blanks. “I can’t… do this without you. I never could. Shoyo, it’s _always_ been you.” 

Hinata simply stares at him. “…I knew you weren’t stupid.” 

“Huh?” 

There are things, Kageyama knows, that you can’t un-remember. It goes like this: Hinata’s mouth falls open but words are lost, and his hands are moving towards Kageyama, looping around his neck and pulling him _down, down, down_. He moves like he’s weightless, as if gravity isn’t doing its best to slow him down. His fingers cradle the side of Kageyama’s face and thread through his hair, eyes dark and wet as they lock gazes. 

Kageyama starts as he realizes how close they are, where the distance between their lips is not measured in inches but breaths. It’s so easy to press forward. He keeps waiting for gravity to pull them back to their respective orbits, but by now, it’s far too late. They’re crossing the event horizon where nothing can escape, so Kageyama throws caution to the wind and lets Hinata’s light engulf him. 

The burn of their lips is quick, and then Hinata’s mouth opens under his, so Kageyama surges forward and take what he’s always wanted. It’s messy and dirty, all tongue and teeth, hands holding them tight against one another, and it’s like a warm flame slowly coming to life under kindling and care. 

“I always knew you felt something,” the spiker whispers, hushed and rushed against his lips. He pulls away and presses his forehead against Kageyama’s, eyes flickering across his face, searching for answers to questions Kageyama has no basis for. “But you never said anything, a-and I kept holding on, even when everybody told me not to, but there was always _something_ there… right?” 

Kageyama shakes his head, brushing the tip of his nose against his partner’s. “I’m good at being quiet.” Even when the quiet threatened to suffocate him, he kept it hidden in the dark, far away from Hinata’s light which had a tendency to burn through every one of his carefully crafted defenses. “I’ve been doing it a long time.” 

“I knew it,” Hinata tells him, and things begin to click into place.   

He can recall moments when he’d stare at Hinata, getting lost in the sound of voice and the crinkle between his brow and the wrinkle of his smile and the fire in his eyes, and Hinata would stare back like he was an opponent the spiker couldn’t figure out how to beat. Kageyama’s lips screw up into a smile because _of course Hinata knew_. Like volleyball, somethings are just unspoken for them—instinctive even—and they just come together, like gravity. 

Trembling, Kageyama leans forward and captures Hinata’s lips in a deep kiss. Everything is warm and wet and slippery, and teeth and noses knock together awkwardly, but it’s perfect because it’s so _them_. He’s content to stay here forever, trading kisses with Hinata after their last high school match, and while it feels like he should be scared that Hinata’s known or about where they go from here, he can’t bring himself to care. 

Until Hinata stiffens in his arms, seizes Kageyama’s shoulders with a tight grip, and pulls away with wild eyes. “You’re still going to Tokyo, right?” 

“W-What?” Kageyama sputters, brain trying to make sense of the sudden change of subject. He would certainly like to go back to kissing _please_. “No?’

 Hinata bounces on his toes, shaking his head furiously. “No, no, you _have_ to. I promise I’ll visit you a lot and make you pork buns whenever you want, but—” 

“What do pork buns have to do with Tokyo?!” 

“—I’m trying to be a good boyfriend, so shut up, Bakayama.” Hinata takes a deep breath and centers his gaze on the ground, fingers digging into Kageyama’s skin like an anchor as if Kageyama might float away any second. “You need to go to Tokyo.” 

“No, I don’t,” Kageyama insists. “I’m going to Sendai University, and I’m playing volleyball there with you.” 

“And if I wasn’t going to Sendai?” Hinata’s voice turns soft. 

“What?” Kageyama demands. “Of course you are.” 

“I can turn their offer down,” Hinata tells him in a rush. “There’s another university—in Tokyo—that offered me a place on their volleyball team if I pass their entrance exam, but it’s really, _really_ hard, and I’m not the smartest person, Tobio, I’m actually pretty dumb—” 

Kageyama cuts him off with a hard kiss, and Hinata stops rambling, instead flinging his arms around his neck and standing up on his tip toes to get closer. He kisses back, licking into Kageyama’s mouth, leaving them both warm and happy. Heart pounding loud, the setter brings his hands up to cradle Hinata’s jaw, pressing his thumbs hard into the hollows under his ears, and the spiker shivers in his arms. 

“That’s cheating,” Hinata pants against his lips. 

“That’s the point,” Kageyama snipes back with an edge of steel in his voice. “You’re not stupid—you’re the farthest thing from it, dumbass.” 

“Don’t call me ‘dumbass’ then. It ruins the moment, you—” The rest of his words is lost in the _hmmph!_ that leaves his lips as Kageyama smothers him once more, leaving them both breathless and shiver-bright.

Kageyama thinks of bubbling laughter and eyes like shooting stars, bright and fiery and free. He thinks of calloused fingers cradling his heart like a volleyball, careful but still with the power to kill and will to overwhelm. He thinks of Hinata’s worn sweatshirts and scuffed sneakers, and the squeaky sound of his bike coming up the drive, and tries to remember what he was even scared of in the first place. 

(The thought is lost on him.)

 

*

 

There are certain limits that the universe sets in motion: if you jump then you must come back down, if you run then you must slow down, if you fly then a force must push you up. Sometimes though, Kageyama reckons, the line between them intermingles because gravity seems to have a mind of its own, like love without borderlines. 

Hinata has always been someone without limits.

(He’s also all of Kageyama’s.)


End file.
